Monday, 17 December 2012

The three act structure is complicated. Just when you think
you’re getting a handle on it, additional layers of analysis with multiple
variables are added. They may be subplots or other complications and they’re
layered onto the model in an effort to accommodate a majority of stories. The
result is confusion.

The importance of the basic model gets lost within details
that are specific to some, but not all stories and they are not part of the
model’s foundation.

You need to know these foundations – you need to know them
without the clutter of the complicated additions that may or may not apply to
the story you are telling.

I’m not saying the rest isn’t important to study and understand,
but often it clouds understanding and causes anomalies that confuse even the
best writers. Worse still, some writers will be so convinced the full model,
with all the layers of intricate detail is the key to writing any story, they
will write to the model and not to their story.

These additional details relate to specific stories, genres
or style – they include so many qualitative explanations and exceptions that
relate to specific situations that may or may not be called into action in YOUR
story, that most people end up hopeful rather than certain about what is
essential within the story model and what is theirs to include, leave out or
skew.

The more detailed the model, the fewer stories it actually applies
to – so strip it back and work with the essentials.

Avoid at all costs any model that purports to fit every
successful film ever made.

In a nutshell I believe you have to be fluent with the story
model. You have to know what can and can’t be manipulated and left out so your
story can dictate the model and not the model dictate your story.

I once paid considerable money to attend the seminar of a man
with all the answers. When we arrived he revealed he was a former merchant
banker who had made his millions and had since moved in on Hollywood to work in
his passion, films.

And he was being paid big money by industry professionals.
Why? Because he’d developed a computer program that searched for hundreds of
specific attributes to story within any script. This program then catalogued and
applied an algorithm, or ‘weighted importance’, to the elements of any given
story, how they’d been applied, when and where and in what order, and this gave
a numerical ranking based on thousands of produced films, calculated and
adjusted for box office success, to arrive at a formula to forecast box office success
and failure of any script, broken down into its individual elements and entered
into his program.

It reduced storytelling to a mathematical formula. If you need
evidence the lunatics are running the asylum – this is it.

Imagine doing the same thing with a painting; asking a
computer to determine if an artist had painted a painting that would sell based
on the elements, composition and style of that painting. Writing stories often
gets confused by the lawyers, marketing experts, accountants and business
graduates who levitate to positions where they run a production company or
studio, as ‘widgets’ with no ethereal artistic component.

A story is a work of art.

Story telling is how we make sense of our world and how we
fit into it. It is as old as man and the BEST way to tell stories has been
refined over time. It doesn’t mean it’s the only way – but it’s a GOOD way. The
only criteria a story should be judged on is whether the story is enjoyed.

THE SCREENPLAY: Writing to the rules.

As much as I dislike arbitrary rules – the page rules for a
screenplay, of one page per one screen minute, is fairly accurate and an
accepted guide. It also allows for a very clear way to judge the pacing of major
plot points, giving a remarkably good guide for pacing events in a screenplay. The
other benefit of marking the major moments in a screenplay by the page number is
that it gives you some direct anchor points where you can check your story is
meeting the basics of the model.

If your story is working, it should meet certain basic
structural points. If you can get these structural points placed correctly –
you’re well on your way to solving the very difficult problem of getting the
pacing of your story right. There is plenty of leeway in these page guides,
ensuring room for a story’s individuality and there are infinite exceptions to
these rules.

The only real rule is – does your story require the pacing
you have given it. If yes, break the rules, but if your story (and most are)
falls within the usual story parameters, stick to the basic format. The general
rule for writing screenplays is one of the general rules that cover the rest of
life – DON’T POKE THE BEAR! In this case, the bear is anyone you want to look favorably
on your work.

If you’re new writer – meaning unproduced – stick to the established
anchor points, like page number total, and the page number to be meeting the basic
moments of the model. If breaking or meeting a rule produce the same result –
MEET THE RULE.

Wait until you’re produced to show the world how brilliant
you are.

Feature screenplay 95-115 pages. 90 – 100 works for a
comedy, 115-123 is acceptable for something a little weightier. More than 125
WILL NOT WORK for an unsolicited screenplay. It will not be read. I know this
sounds arbitrarily insane – but a little like the example of the computer
program earlier – after reading tens of thousands of scripts, executives have
come to recognize that this is a very accurate indicator. Tell a story within
these page numbers and you at least have the length and pacing right – over or
under, something is wrong.

It's not that those judging your script want to throw away someone's hard work because it doesn't conform. These people are all looking for great scripts. They are desperate to find them. They throw a non conforming script away because most professional readers/producers/manager and agents have literally thousands of scripts to sift through. They can't possibly read them all, so they look for red flags that alert them a writer is not ready: format, length, big print, if scenes begin and end too early or too late and on and on the 'red flag' list goes.

This is why many rejected scripts often go on to be great. Why some scripts that go on to find fame have previously failed to make it past the first round of a competition and so on. Often a great script is hidden by a 'red flag' issue to a reader and the golden content only emerges when the writer's craft catches up to their content, meaning all those writing red flags are removed.

You have to make yourself look professional in every possible way so readers can get to the content without bias or reservation. This business is so tough that a breath of doubt in a reader's mind will send your script to the wrong pile.

As we go, I will post a series of illustrations of the 3 act
structural model as it unfolds. I will also plot the points against the story
of Cinderella on that model. I find the basic Disney version of Cinderella illustrates the model well and almost
everyone knows the story – so it serves as a great reference point.

The Set Up – pages 1
to 25.

The set up is what we
need to know in order to allow the story we are telling to be told. Tell us
everything we need to know, but nothing more until we need to know it.

Never lose sight or let the set-up become any more
complicated than that. If it is more complicated then you have something going
on in your set-up that shouldn’t be there. Take it out.

Make sure your screenplay lays out the following in such a
way that it leaves no questions that NEED to be answered for someone coming in
cold with no other knowledge of your story:

Setup Q1/ Who are the main characters?

Setup Q2/ What needs to be known to understand these
characters?

-Tell us everything we need to understand them,
their place in the world and their relationship to the story that is about to unfold.

Setup Q2/ What is the world of these characters?

Setup Q3/ What needs to be known to make sense of the coming
story?

Setup Q4/ Have
you taken every opportunity, within setting the above in place, to seed in
elements that will create turning points in the story and even help to roll out
a well plotted and planned resolution. (You may not be able to at this stage,
but if you can do so within the parameters of the setup - do)

Think of Act One – or the Setup – as the current world. This
is the world we first encounter when we arrive. If a stranger came into this
world, with no information, have you given that person enough information to
make sense of the situation and the people involved? Have you delivered this
information in the most creative, visually interesting and economical way? Have
you delivered all the information, directly or coded, to make sense of what
comes later?

Coded information refers to visuals or situations based on
the world we share and understand. Sometimes an image or situation doesn’t need
to explained, because the moment explains itself by a, reasonably expected,
shared life experience.

A character comes to their parked car and finds a ticket
taped to their windscreen. They rip it off and look around angrily.

We know they’ve been fined for a parking infringement without
need for a further explanation. It is reasonable to expect a modern audience to
be able to decode this. When the character shoves that ticket into a glove box
alongside dozens of others, we have another coded visual – this person is a
serial offender. It doesn’t need to be spelt out any more. The information is
conveyed in this shared experience very quickly. (A writer must use their own
judgment about what is a universal experience and able to be coded and what is
too personal or obscure.)

The example I have always used to staff writers on a steep
learning curve is to cut in on a scene where someone is on the phone. What do
we know? Either that person rang the person they are speaking to or they
received the call. When the call started they may have said hello and traded
other small talk. We, as modern citizens and phone uses know how phones work
and how conversations go, so none of this is needed and we can start with the
line – “She slept with him?”

Break free from any thought that if it doesn’t happen on
screen, it doesn’t happen. The opposite is true – you can make anything and
everything happen off screen if you code what is on screen well enough. And
that leaves you free to be economical and cut to the chase. “She slept with
him?” – grabs your attention so much better than:

“Hi”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Same old, I guess. Dougie and Sharon are still fighting.”

“What now?”

“Who knows, they actually hooked up last night, but it hasn’t
seemed to help.”

“She slept with him?”

Remember the golden rule SHOW DON’T TELL.

What exactly does this mean?

In Pretty Woman when we first meet Vivian (Julia Roberts)
she’s in a very small shared studio apartment and getting ready to go out. She
goes to her bathroom, to the secret place where she hides her money. She opens
a box hidden inside the top of the toilet and is annoyed to find one dollar.
She goes to leave her small apartment and hears the landlord berating another
tenant for not paying rent on time. She then leaves out a window and down the
fire escape. Not a word spoken and a great example of showing, not telling. There’s
even a motivated launch into the coming scene where Vivian finds her house mate
and says – “What did you do with the rent money?”

She could have very easily gone out of her apartment door
and said – “I promise Mr Landlord, I’ll get you the money, I just don’t have it
at the moment.”

Both scenes do exactly the same thing, but one does it
visually (shows) and one does it verbally (tells) - where a character literally
speaks information. (One is also terrible and one is great)

Wherever possible find ways to show us the information. The
better the writer, the more creative the ways that can be found to show and not
tell what needs to be known.

In one of the most famous visual sequences – and in a setup,
in fact the very first shot – Hitchcock pans around an apartment in Rear
Window. We see a character in pajamas, in a wheelchair with a broken leg. On
his cast is written, “Here lies the broken bones of L.B. Jeffries, and the
camera pans to see a broken camera, above it an extraordinary picture on the
wall - a race car crash with a wheel milliseconds from hitting the camera. Then
we’re shown a series of other framed photos on the wall, all extraordinary places
and dangerous events. Then we see a negative of a woman and the same photo of
that woman on the cover of a prestigious magazine.

A lesser screenwriter may have chosen this –

A phone call…

“Is that Mr Jeffries?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“I’m with the racetrack. We’re just following up on your
accident.”

“No need, I’m fine. Just sick of being stuck inside. I miss
the excitement.”

“So what happened hasn’t put you off covering future race
meetings?”

“Of course not. As soon as I can walk I’ll be back the pits.”

Even that clunky passage doesn’t give as much detail as the
opening visual and it certainly has none of the richness or subtlety. So
showing is far more powerful and conveys more in a moment than any dialogue
ever can and this is the real reason why it’s preferred whenever possible – not
simply because we’re in a visual medium.

CINDERELLA: The Setup.

ØCinderella is the daughter of a widower who
married again and then passed away, leaving his daughter, Cinderella, under her
stepmother’s care.

ØThe stepmother has daughters of her own and
favours them over Cinderella.

ØThe stepdaughters are allowed, if not encouraged
by their mother, to order Cinderella around like a slave.

ØCinderella is downtrodden, overworked, of good
character but sadly mistreated for no good reason. Her spirit broken, she can
only dream of the life her stepsisters lead.

ØThe stepmother and her daughters are spoilt and
demanding.

ØThere is a clear good versus evil, right versus
wrong theme at play. The beauty of Cinderella and the ugliness of the
stepsisters underlines this – beauty is virtuous, ugly is evil. (Nb. Disney is
unrealistic)

So the setup is relatively simple in what it needs to cover;
who the characters are; their world and their relationship with each other and,
some hint, ideally visual – as to wants and needs of the character that will
propel that character through the main story.

(Don’t worry if this talk of ‘wants’ and ‘needs’ sounds like
‘Something-Nothing’ speak at the moment – it will be explained very clearly in
a moment.)(Something-Nothing speak is my biggest hate – it is analysis of a
story that sounds informative and insightful, but conveys no real help or
direction for the writer when you break down what has actually been said. I.e.
“Your story needs to be brighter with more drive towards the resolution.” –
Gee, thanks.)

What does Cinderella want when we
first meet her? To be treated fairly. To be allowed to live her life. To be an
equal to her stepsisters. To have her father back. To be cared for. To be loved
like she was until her father died. To be considered of worth. Yes to all of
these and more – you’re the story teller – in your version you decide what she
wants and needs.

You don’t need these things to be
stated overtly, just seed them in, so later, if and when they come up, we
understand them. As an audience we don’t suddenly questions why Cinderella
seems to lack confidence and be scared of the treatment she’s expecting from
her stepmother.

Around two thirds of
the way into your set up – around page 15, something happens that gives the
main character a choice or change in direction; a fork in their road. This
is known as the ‘Inciting Incidence’ or the catalyst for change. (Or any of a number of other labels – “first
act turning point”, etc.)

The character can commit to this change or not. Sometimes the
change comes at a risk or an expense and the last third of the setup, pages
15-25, brings more examples from the character’s ‘current’ world that help make
their mind up – perhaps the choice is reiterated or there is a clear picture of
what the future will be if that choice is not taken.

It’s these pages, 15-25, where the character decides to take
up the opportunity presented by the choice/change of direction, whether it is
taken by the character or forced on them. So the ‘choice’ may be a choice made
by the universe or others that befalls or confronts the character – not
necessarily a voluntary choice made from within the character.

CINDERELLA: The Inciting Incident/The Choice.

The Prince is throwing a ball for
all the young women in the land – he’s looking for a wife. Cinderella is swept
up imagining the fantastic night that awaits her.

The change in direction/choice is taken:

Cinderella’s stepmother tells Cinderella
she can go.

This now creates an entirely new
world – one where the royal ball exists and Cinderella’s head is filled with
dreams of attending.

A moment after allowing Cinderella
to dream her evil Stepmother gives her chores she can’t possibly finish in time.
This takes us into act two – where Cinderella will try and get herself to the
ball.

This effort commits Cinderella to
the choice/change of direction.

The inciting incident/choice is
the revelation of the ball. This changes the current world. The choice for
Cinderella is - will she get to go to the ball?

The moment we get a yes – in this
case her stepmother’s ‘false’ yes - we have left act one and our old world. The
choice has been answered/acted upon. The world we first encountered has changed
forever, because the presence of the upcoming ball changes it.

By the end of your
set up you should have made it clear your character has committed to the
change/choice and why.

The moment the choice
is acted upon, committed to and taken – the first act (the setup) ends and the
second act begins. The commitment to the choice should be big enough to change
the world of the character we first encountered.

You move from the current world into the new world. The
choice, inciting incident, catalyst for change, whether taken of forced, has
changed the world of your character in some way – therefore they enter, are
delivered or thrown into this new world, either voluntarily or by force and not
always by a literal choice on their part.

Neo in the Matrix is largely a passive character who is pushed
into making a choice by Morpheus. Act two begins the moment Neo chooses the
reality pill – until then he’s had the desire hanging over him to find out what
all the strange signs have meant – what is the Matrix? But he is still clearly
in the current world, or the world we first encountered when we first joined
him. It is when he takes the pill he commits and literally leaves the world we
first encountered and enters a new world.

But throughout the setup, this new world is conspiring and
compelling him to make that choice. Yes he ultimately made the choice of which
pill to take, but he was steered into it at every turn by Morpheus and in the
end Morpheus even pushed him to choose a pill with a lure that no human being
could turn down. One pill leads to knowledge, one pill leads to ignorance. Did
Neo really have a choice? I argue no.

Often, and again it may just be the way my mind likes to
definitively understand something, words like choice, conflict, progression,
disturbance – are applied to a range of actions that relate to the spirit of
the word, rather than their more literal, narrower definition. This is also why
many teaching story structure come up with labels that broadly define every
possibility – like inciting incident, catalyst for change, call to adventure,
call to action, turning point one, plot point one, first complication. They all
mean the same thing: a change. So beware what people are actually referring to
when they use these terms or any others. For example – someone may refer to a
change of direction and it’s easy to misinterpret this as changing the
direction literally – but they may also include speeding up as a change in
direction. In other words, things keep going in exactly the same direction, but they go there at a change in speed of intensity.

Similarly they may say a scene needs to change through
conflict. Again the words change and conflict may actually mean: change – to go
from being happy to VERY happy. And conflict: to receive praise and
encouragement that propels the character from happy to very happy. Just make
sure you understand what a structural model is covering and the context it uses
with words chosen to describe each moment or element within that
structure.

When you follow someone’s model – be open to apply a broad
definition to the labels they give to the structural signposts and components -
it’s about understanding how each component works – without that, all the
important sounding labels and titles are just more Something-Nothing speak. We
are trying to ‘know’ what we are doing as storytellers, not simply sound like
we know what we are doing.

Another setup/inciting incident example.

Harry Potter – Harry lives under the stairs in his Aunt and
Uncle’s house. He gets an invitation to study at Hogwarts. There’s the inciting
incident – the catalyst for change – the opportunity for choice. But the ‘leap’
from the current world of act one – his life under the stairs, unaware of his
wizard background - into the new world of act two – his studying at Hogwarts and
informed of his ‘Arthurian’ legacy - doesn’t happen until Harry commits to the
half platform and travels through the wall separating the two worlds. Very
clearly he leaves the world we first encountered – the Muggles world - and
enters the world of the wizards.

Once you are in the new world of act two – you can never go
back. Even if you do, the old world is no longer the same because of the time
spent in the new world. So the old world – or the world we initially
encountered no longer exists in the same way.

There are all sorts of opportunities to skew these
parameters. You should feel free to do this yourself once you have truly
understood what needs to be set up, how and why it needs to be set up, and what
needs to be laid out to propel and seed in information to drive the rest of
your story. But only skew the model if your story dictates.

How will you know if your story dictates? By studying and
understanding story-structure. I’m sorry that’s a circular answer – but it’s a
chicken and an egg type situation. You can only judge when to break the rules
when you know and understand the rules. That’s why it’s important to simplify the
structure and really come to terms with what are the structural ‘must haves’ are,
as opposed to the more complicated additions that apply to some, but not all story
types or situations.

To do this you need to study or write to the rules many
times. Experience will make you a better writer. Experience analyzing other
scripts will also help, but it’s ultimately working in hindsight – a tool for a
script editor, reader or producer/director. To really understand how to turn
your idea into a well structured screenplay from a blank page – you have to do
it. It’s a brutal learning curve – but to tell your stories in your voice,
there’s no other way.

I have heard people say it takes nine screenplays before you
write to a level that will be considered professional. Once again – there’s no
hard and fast rule. You may be such a fan of movies that the structure is
ingrained in you and you get it on your first or second try. Or you may be
still searching to reach that level at screenplay fifteen.

The only reason I mention the quote about nine screenplays
of experience – and I have heard it a few times with a variety of ‘times’
listed – is because it’s a good indicator that if you don’t get it on your
first or second try, it’s not unusual. In fact it’s very usual. You need to do
it a number of times before you truly begin to understand and know what it is
you’re doing. So don’t be too proud to walk away from a screenplay and mark it
down as a good learning experience. Sometimes, especially at the beginning of
your writing career, moving on to the next project will do you far more good
than doggedly sticking to a project that isn’t moving forward.

If the idea is worthwhile – you can always come back to it
after you’ve written your ‘experience’ quota; after you’ve had some success and
know some contacts who will read your work. The idea is always yours to pitch.
Who knows, somewhere down the track it may be just what someone is looking for;
but not now and not today.

The reason experience is so crucial is because every story
dictates its own structure. If you’re a writer you’ll understand when I say,
eventually the blank page you’re staring at will compel you to write and it
will also compel you to choose the right way to tell the story that is
screaming for release. The arbitrary model rules, like page number work for
MOST stories, but… not all.

For instance – some stories need very little setup. A recent
film I saw, ‘Ondine’, with Colin Farrell, showed his character, ‘Circus’ on a
fishing trawler, pulling in nets. This is all we need for us to know who the
character is – he’s a fisherman and he’s working off what looks like the British
Isles. His nets pull in a young woman – an inciting incident - and when he
thinks she’s a body he radios for authorities, giving us three words in a thick
Irish accent (Okay – Ireland) – then the woman moves – she’s alive!

Only 2 minutes into the film and we have our setup and our
first structural turning point/change/inciting incident. Will Circus commit to
the young women and bring her into his life? That’s the question to take us
into act two. But the film has already broken numerous structural rules – the
set up is all visual, which is great. Its inciting incident is on page 2. So
what? The story dictates it and the writer had the confidence to listen.

Does Circus have a wife or a girlfriend? That’s an
interesting question and it adds to what compels me to keep watching – but it’s
not imperative to this story at this stage. If it was, the writer would have
found a way to SHOW me what I needed to know, maybe a close up of a wedding
ring when Circus radioed for help.

An apocalyptic world may require very little setup as well –
due to conveyed visual messages and understanding. (Coded information discussed
earlier) We understand almost immediately how little there is to set up about
an apocalyptic world. Who destroyed civilization? Who started the war? Who won
it? Who lived and died? It’s interesting, but it doesn’t help us understand the
story – so we don’t need it.

When we see a character in rags, scrounging for food – we
pretty much have the information we need. Show us the characters we’re focusing
on and what relationships they have or don’t have and then you can bring in the
inciting incident and give the character a choice to make.

Once again - this isn’t a hard and fast rule – maybe for this
apocalyptic story there are details of who the character is, where they live, their
relationships that are important enough for us to know to roll out the story.
But it may be just as it seems with nothing else needed – a lost, lonely,
character, all alone and eking out a wretched existence in the aftershock of
some global catastrophe.

Here is a great example of exactly why I argue that the
basic foundations apply in almost every case – but the specific details of any
model are different in so many cases. Trying to fit your story exactly to any
predetermined model will only confuse and force you into writing a structure
for your story that your story doesn’t dictate.

What if you have an incredibly interesting setup – the
adaptation of The Life of Pi could
have seen any number of points used as the inciting incident and the jump from
act one to act two. It could have pushed well past the 12-15 page guidelines
for the inciting incident, because the quality and richness of the story would hold
our attention to allow this. To accommodate the writer would then shorten the
second act or create a longer than usual film. Once again, the story and how
you choose to tell it will dictate large aspects of the structure.

Provided you know what each aspect is – they are yours to
manipulate – provided you’re skillful enough to keep your audience engaged and
entertained. That should be the only hard and fast rule – that should be the
overriding hard and fast rule of any model: engage and entertain your audience from
first fade in to the final fade out.

The hard rules here are these:

ØThe setup must place and define characters,
relationships, their world and any other information we need to dive into our
story in act two. It must seed any circumstances needed that become
relevant/important for the later story to work and be believed. The setup must
deliver this as economically as possible.

ØAn inciting incident must arrive once all the
information is delivered – and this incident gives/forces or creates a
character/s a choice/change of direction. When the character/s commit to that
choice/change in their life/world – the first act is done and the second act
begins.

It’s that simple. Other variables from other more elaborate
models CAN certainly apply, but they also may not apply to the story you’re
telling. That’s where confusion begins for someone trying to understand the
story model fluently.

Every other element, placement of inciting incident, length
of setup, outlining initial wants and seeing overall need, are all variables
the writer can alter, place at unorthodox times or subvert in other ways.

Listen to the story!

The page anchors are remarkably accurate for MOST
screenplays, so don’t discard them simply because you’re an undiscovered genius
who needs to be different to be noticed. Don’t subvert anything you don’t have
to – it will simply make your screenplay harder to sell – but if it’s truly
needed for the story to be told in the best possible way – then trust those
instincts. Alterations can be made selectively by a confident writer.

That’s the grey area that makes writing a screenplay so hard
– but it will also make you a success or a failure. How successful you are depends
on your judgment as a story teller – and that is the one aspect that can’t be
taught. The only solace is - no-one’s judgment is any good until they have a
fluent understanding of how a story works.

Act Two – The Journey
- The Story – The Action – Pages 15 - 85

I mentioned want and need in the setup. These become very
important to act two because they drive the story.

Again, I’m simplifying because I’m getting rid of all the
complicated layers that try to make a model fit as many stories as possible.
When I jumped off the analysis cliff and declared what it is I believed and
understood to be unchangeable – I found it helped those I was working with to
get a hold of the basic foundations of structure very quickly and through
hundreds of hours of produced storytelling, these foundations seemed to hold
across whatever story was being told.

As the writer want and
need of the character/s are yours to
decide. Once again it pays to think of these as concepts rather than
definitions. Perhaps think of the want as the character’s superficial goal and
the need as their primary goal or that aspect of character or life that will
make them whole or enable them to complete their quest – even if they aren’t
aware this is what they need to complete their quest/objective. This may be
part of their character that is lacking and that they are not ready t
acknowledge as lacking when we first meet them.

This primary goal may be unconscious. It may be love or to
belong, or to gain respect or trust in others. It is what a character needs to
be complete or to survive or thrive. And it may need to be learnt and
understood and gained through trial and experience, rather than a simple
recognition or decision from the character to go after it and attain it. Even
then – it may not be given, it may have to be earned or won against incredible
odds. This ‘thing’ they are lacking, either internally or externally, can be
seen as the character’s flaw.

Often the things we want are motivated by the things we need.
A person who continually wants material things may feel unfulfilled in life and
hope their next executive toy will fill the gap. With each new material thing
they gain, they grow ever more desperate and depressed because they feel less certain
there is anything to fill the emptiness in their life they’re feeling.

Sometimes the need is something we can’t obtain ourselves –
it must be won or found or learnt with help or luck.

This is a simplistic view of incredibly complicated issues.
They are issues great minds have argued over and studied throughout time and
they are the issues that compel us to examine the same issues over and over
again in our stories. You are dealing with the scope of the human condition and
the more appealing your story, the better you render it, the more people you’ll
find relating.

It is these choices, the complications and original framing of
issues, that will make your script great and your story worth telling – but for
the purpose of detailing the foundation of the model in the clearest possible
terms, I am keeping these incredibly complicated, all encompassing psychological
conditions, as simple as possible.

So we have a superficial want and an underlying primary
need.

Even simpler – the superficial goal is transitory/often
poorly thought through/has little ongoing impact on life. The primary goal is
substantial/permanently altering/life changing.

We have moved into our second act and this is where the
choice made in the first act will lead the character to achieve, or fail to
achieve, the result that first act choice offered. This is the act that can get
analyzed to death. It can be made so complicated and convoluted that it becomes
a study of analysis, rather than the organic telling of a good story.

Too many people concentrate on the detail of additional
layers of the structure instead of the basic foundations. Think of these layers
of structural detail as a magician’s misdirect. It causes many writers to look
in the wrong direction. If your foundation isn’t sound you can rewrite forever
and never fix anything. Adjusting the details will not solve your problem.

No matter how magnificent the façade, if it’s built on poorly
constructed foundations the whole thing’s going to fall down.

The first half of the second act begins with a series of
escalating attempts or tests where the character tries to attain their superficial
goal – their want – the thing THEY THINK they need to achieve in order to
succeed. And because they are going after the wrong thing - they fail. They may
not fail immediately – they may even succeed in gaining their want and be
thrilled by their superficial gain/success, but ultimately it will lead to them
knowing they’ve failed, knowing their success has delivered a hollow victory.

Think of the well trodden tale of a character who finds
money - “Yippee! I’m rich and all my problems are over.” But we all know they
aren’t.

Why do they fail? Because there’s a bigger ‘need’ at stake –
the deeper soul of the character is still hidden – gaining their superficial goal/want
will not deliver what they NEED. In fact, in many cases it will only prove they
are lacking what they really need. Gaining their superficial want will move
them further away from gaining whatever their primary goal/need actually is.

Perhaps the character hasn’t even yet realized what their
true need/primary goal is. And this need/goal can’t be achieved by gaining
superficial wants – so they have to fail in some way at this point. They may even
be confused at this stage and not understand why their success at getting the
superficial want hasn’t delivered the ultimate victory.

This is the first half of the second act; a series of
escalating attempts to achieve the character’s superficial wants.

Remember: There may be more to your second act than a
series of escalating trials, attempts or action to attain the superficial want.
There may be twists, reversals or character ‘breathing’ moments – your story
will dictate what else is needed – but the escalating attempts or escalating
action is the MUST HAVE component.

The paradox of want and need: The character feels they want
something, unaware that want is a symptom of their true need. When they finally
REALISE/DISCOVER/RECOGNIZE this need, either at the midpoint or in the second
half of the second act, and sacrifice their superficial want to gain the higher
value need, they often win their superficial want as a result.

Often, by that stage, because the character has learnt the
life lessons and experienced growth as a character – the want that is now theirs, is suddenly of very little importance.

In the judgment of Solomon, the king sat in judgment over
two women claiming to be the mother of a single child. When he ordered the
child cut in half, one woman immediately gave up her rights to raise the child.
This is who Solomon awarded the child to. This woman wanted the child – of
course, she was the child’s mother, but her bigger need was the child’s safety.
A mother would die for their child – so to be willing to give up her want to
ensure her need – to make sure the child survived – she ultimately gains the
right to have custody. The need trumps the want every time.

These escalating actions/attempts to gain a ‘want’ don’t fit
every story perfectly, but it is close. And it’s certainly the closest set of secure
signposts I’ve found across every story – the only proviso is not to anchor the
terms ‘want’ and ‘need’ too narrowly – rather use superficial goal and primary
goal to broaden those terms so they become broad concepts that encompass
character motivations. (They are motivations you as the writer must decide upon
and assign – as dictated by your story)

This is my argument for the entire set of structural models
– yes, a story can fit a model perfectly, but usually it’s an interpretative
fit and the more detail you add to a model, in an effort to cover more aspects
of more specific stories, the further away from a clear model to guide writers you
go. The more detailed and complicated a model becomes - the more of an
interpreter to the ‘spirit’ of the analysis and the terms being used the user
needs to be.

That’s why all films can be made to fit in hindsight and so
much analysis of films in ‘development’ push and pull a story away from the
writer’s intention.

I encourage this anchored signpost method of the main
structural because it seems to be shared by almost every established model. It seems
to me the best, clearest way to guide writers and avoid confusion of terms and
conflicting intricate details of the final components to a story.

In essence I am saying nothing new. Just saying less and not
trying to cover every aspect of every story.

Get the basics right and leave the analysis of the detail of
your story until your story is told. A great story will guide you to tell it
well. Trying to fit it to a model as you write will only rob that story of its
unique qualities. You may even break some of the more detailed guidelines used
by some models, but you may break those rules and still tell a great, engaging
story. Once again – story is king.

SUMMARY: Into the second act, set your character off on their
journey. Allow them to go after what they think they want as a result of the
choice offered from act one. Give them escalating attempts to achieve this want,
(escalating in effort/intensity/tension/danger/risk – that is, each attempt
should be a bigger attempt, a more committed, greater challenge to achieve,
than the last.)

In Rainman, Tom Cruise’s character, Charlie Babbitt, wants
to take his autistic brother, Raymond, to the attorney’s in LA and challenge
his father’s estate that left everything to the mental institution that cares
for Raymond.

Charlie’s primary (subconscious) goal/need is to come to
terms with his childhood, his relationship with his late father and why he was
never told of his brother.

His superficial goal/want is to get money.

The character begins as an uncaring selfish man only wanting
his share of his father’s estate.

When Raymond refuses to fly, and Charlie drives him to LA, Charlie
slowly comes to understand and even love his brother and in so doing, comes to
understand his childhood and his father’s behaviour.

Raymond Babbit was sent away because he put Charlie in
danger – that’s how much Charlie’s father cherished Charlie; to choose his
safety over his brother. It may have ruined father and son’s relationship – but
at least now Charlie has his answers.

In the end Charlie gives up fighting for the money to keep
Raymond from being upset and pressured into a decision. Charlie’s growth as a
man is obvious.

The second act begins when Charlie and Raymond come
together. Charlie then makes escalating attempts to get what he wants – to get
to LA quickly to claim his share of the money. These attempts are all the
different ways Charlie tries and fails to get Raymond to LA as quickly as
possible. Each attempt is made out of increasing desperation to make it on time
and gain money from his father’s estate. Each attempt requires greater
commitment from Charlie.

Remember as the writer you choose if your character comes
out of the story a winner or a loser. In Goodfellas Ray Liotta’s character,
Henry, ultimately wasn’t able to change. He turned against the mob by becoming
a witness, but even in his reallocation and anonymous new life he longed for
the excitement and adventure of his days as a gangster.

In the second act, once Henry is accepted as a Goodfella – he
and his two ‘crew’, Tommy and Jimmy, DeNiro and Pesci, make continuous efforts
to become more than common soldiers in the organization. They want to be respected/powerful
leaders of the organized mob, but they fail. Sometimes they fail because their
efforts aren’t recognized as they think they should be – sometimes they fail
because their own behaviour puts them at odds with the inner members – they
kill a ‘made’ man, a forbidden act. But they act like a law unto themselves as
they go after what they want.

They should fall in line and respect the organization and
its rules – (their need is to move up and they can only do this if they truly
belong) – that’s how they’ll be accepted – but they can’t do this – they want
to belong without following any of the rules. They see themselves above the
rules.

Again – their superficial goal/want is to belong, be given
respect and they make escalating attempts to force this want to a point where
they have artificially created the result they were seeking – to be big,
respected leaders within the mob. But the truth is their status is artificial.

When Tommy goes to be made – he’s killed. Henry deals in
forbidden drugs and is disowned and Tommy isn’t the right background so can
never be full accepted. They fail to realise how to go about getting what they
want and therefore never gain what they need – genuine respect and acceptance
within the organization. I guess the writer is telling us something in this
choice – can you ever gain real respect and acceptance as a member of the mob?

Henry Hill tells us in his very first line – “As far back as
I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.” The inciting incident is
when he goes to work for Paulie, the commitment to this new world is when he
‘pops his cherry’ and is arrested – from that point he’s an apprentice gangster
and entering a brand new world – a world where he should be adhering to the
code of the organization.

How many challenges/attempts to achieve the character’s
superficial goal do you need in the first half of act two? That’s up to you.
Three is common. But you can choose one sustained challenge/attempt or fifteen
– as long as the intensity of the challenge rises and the story dictates one
sustained attempt. (Apollo 13)

Forest Gump has too many attempts to count where Forest is
trying to make sense of the world – and each one is a greater commitment from
him than the last. It is also, in my opinion, a great example of why story is
king. (I will use it to illustrate when I discuss story selection.)

The rise of intensity is as simple as it sounds. If you
choose one obstacle, challenge, attempt to gain a superficial goal/want (I have
heard all sorts of names for these ‘story hurdles’) – make sure each attempt
builds - keep our interest! Entertain! Trust the story. If it doesn’t do all
these things it may well be the story and not the structure you’re choosing
letting you down. When in doubt ask yourself – would I watch it?

The moment one attempt ends, a new bigger attempt or
challenge is needed. So if it is only one attempt it needs to be a ripper that
has an inbuilt rising level of intensity throughout.

If it is more – then each attempt has to be bigger and
better than the one before.

As an example – a boy wants to date a girl. Attempt one is a
phone call. Attempt two is asking her out on a date. Attempt three is breaking
into her house to spy on her and learn how to win her over. Each attempt is
bigger than the last.

The superficial goal/want in Wag The Dog is to stop the news
breaking that the President sexually assaulted an underage firefly girl and
keep it quiet until after the election that is two weeks away. Attempt one is
to leak information about a secret weapon that doesn’t actually exist. This holds
for a day. Attempt two is to create a war. Attempt three is to create a hero
and detail a hostage drama where the hero is being held.

Each attempt to achieve the want is bigger than the last.
The overriding primary goal/need is to keep the inner machination of government
and politics absolute secrecy so no-one ever knows the truth about the level of
political conspiracy and manipulation to world events that actually takes
place. As the second half of the second act unwinds we see people benefit and
suffer so this overriding primary goal/need is realized - to remain silent. The
illegal immigrant gets citizenship, the producer is killed.

The first half of the
second act is a series of escalating attempts to secure a superficial goal/want.

Cinderella tries to do the
impossibly long list of chores her stepmother has set her. She can’t get them
done and resigns herself to not attending the ball.

Then her Fairy Godmother shows up
and says she is going to the ball.

Cinderella thanks the Fairy Godmother,
but she can’t possibly go to the ball. She’s filthy, has no dress and a stack
of work to do. How could she measure up to anyone else at the ball even if she
did find a way to go?

But the Godmother has magic and
snap, snap, snap, a series of wonderful surprises – Cinderella is cleaned,
dressed, her work done and her pets and pesky rodents are turned into grand
coachmen and horses – the pumpkin into a coach.

It’s pretty impressive stuff and
each snap brought something better than the last. The ominous warning to be
home by midnight is laid in, again raising the intensity of her risk/attempt to
go to the ball against her stepmother’s wishes and off she goes to the ball.
She’s let in – she made it.

She passes her last hurdle the
entry to the ball and every head turns. It’s everything SHE THOUGHT she wanted.

We have a series of escalating attempts
to get to the ball ending with ‘magic’ incarnations, a warning hanging over her
and entrance to the ball – exactly what Cindi wanted and dreamed of. Each moment
rises in scope and emotional intensity.

But it’s hollow. It’s transitory.
It means nothing. If she goes and dances and comes home – what’s changed? She
had a good night out – hardly helpful to her in the long run and not a story.
But layer in a primary need that she hasn’t acknowledged, to be loved –
respected and treated well – to gain self worth/self belief that’s she’s as
good as anyone - and we’re moving in on a complete story.

The Midpoint – page
52ish.

Now we reach the half way point, the midpoint, the central
turning point, the major event – (Once
again, it has been given many different names –– they all mean the same thing -
the middle of your story.)

It is often the highest emotional point and it is also often
the place where the need, either for the audience or for the characters
involved – becomes realized. Perhaps we could say the character’s flaw is shown
to them or discovered by them. In Schindler’s list it’s the point where
Schindler realizes he’s been manipulated by Stern. Schindler is benefiting
financially, while Stern, his right hand man, has been acting only to save
lives. It shows Schindler what a loathsome man he’s been.

It can be the moment of confrontation or the moment of
extreme triumph and happiness – but it is a loud moment, either literally or in
terms of being emotionally changing – it changes the pre-existing dynamic.

The real point of the midpoint – in layman’s terms – is to
wake your audience up. The story has now settled in. The main character is
after something and we, the audience, have had time to come to terms with this
and accept it. We are, and will always be to some extent, a child with a toy –
and we’re bored now. So we need a change of direction or a new element added
that makes us suddenly revalue everything we’ve seen. We can now code all
that’s gone before with this new added twist, element, direction – whatever the
half way point of act two adds – and instantly imagine all the wonderful
complications and twists the added element or direction could bring to the
story.

We re-engage. As a story teller you have to be half a yard
ahead of your audience – dragging them forward with a series of, “Ohhhh”s and “Ahhhh”s – they didn’t see that coming,
but now that it’s here they like it.

The whole film will shift as a result of the midpoint. In a
romantic comedy it’s where a character discovers she’s only being wooed because
of a bet.

In Wag the Dog it’s when the ‘Created Hero’, already discovered
to be insane, attacks the girl at the farm and is then shot dead and finally
Dustin Hoffman’s unflappable producer who has been saying the whole film –
“This is nothing” – finally says – “This is not good”.

He created a war to cover a sexual indiscretion! The
audience have been cheering for this all to come unstuck for half a film – now
they have what they want.

In Tootsie it’s when Michael Dorsey allows Tootsie’s world
and Michael’s to meet when he delivers the pick-up line he was told by Julie
she would respond to – she doesn’t and Michael realizes he’s hurting people,
he’s a fake, he’s achieved success at the expense of his integrity. His primary
goal/need has proven more powerful than his superficial goal/want – leaving him
unfulfilled.

Once again – it’s not exact – it’s broad strokes – but it
can be applied to almost every story going.

So the midpoint
reverses, intensifies, reinforces or changes the direction of the main
character and their goals – the only thing to aim for is to deliver a
rousing/memorable moment in the story – either success or failure, celebration
or realization – that propels the character/s at a changed momentum – either
forward and faster, backward, sideways, stops them dead, or some other twist
that moves them out of the trajectory they were in and redirects them, in some
way, towards their primary goal/need.

The midpoint stokes the fire to re-trigger your story for
the second half of act two. It should make the audience brace for impact in
some way – now you have to deliver that impact.

Cinderella enters the ball.
Everyone has noticed her. She’s gone from the put upon servant to a woman
envied by all – her want. (To be beautiful and to shine at the ball, the equal
of any)

Then the Prince sees her and is
entranced – he instantly falls in love. He dances with her all night. It’s the
culmination of her want – her dream!

More importantly it has us as an
audience going – “This is going to cause some problems back home when the evil
step mother/sister’s find out.”

At the ball, the clock strikes
midnight and the realization hit Cinderella that all this is transitory and falsely
enjoyed. Her dream night comes crashing down on her. In a few more chimes of
the clock she’s going to be transformed back into what she still sees as her
true self – Cinderella the worthless servant girl. So she flees to avoid this
being discovered. (Her primary need is a long way from being reached - to be
loved, accepted, treated well – this need is brought about because of her lack
of confidence – somehow she feels she deserves the treatment she’s getting)

The Second Half of
Act Two.

In a mirror to the
first half of act two, the second half of act two starts a series of escalating
attempts to gain the primary goal/need. Remember the need is a term I am
using to represent what the STORY need is – and what needs to deliver to the
character to allow them to complete their journey, started by their choice in
Act one. It may actually be something external that the character needs to
attain.

These attempts may not even be initiated by the character -
they may be unconscious trials that come into the character’s path. They may
come from those around or from the character themselves who has finally learned
from the journey we’ve seen so far, what is lacking, what they must really gain
to achieve success. Or they may be discovering this need through trial error –
when they make the right choice they get closer to what they ultimately need –
when they choose badly it propels them from what they need.

And that success may be different from the success of the
want. It may be the result of facing up to a flaw in their character and
correcting it. The realization of what is truly needed may be a slow
realization that is still forming and being grasped.

Oscar Schindler wanted to make money. By the end of the film
he has become a far better man and his success is in these terms –
spirituality, humanitarianism, compassion for others. These things now make him
complete and make him a successful or righteous human being.

But these attempts to achieve an desired result end in the
second half of the second act (and by the second act it is often an adjusted
desire or new desire from the one that fuelled the first half of act two) start
small and escalate – each one a bigger attempt or action than the one before.

In Liar Liar, Jim Carey’s character gives the bum a handout.
It’s small, but it’s the first sign he’s on the path to finding his humanity
through being empathetic and honest to the world and people around him. It’s a
really good example of how the ‘attempt to gain the need’ may not be conscious
on the character’s part. The character’s change is part of that character’s
journey/attempt/discover or be educated as to what they need to do or achieve
to gain the missing element and solve or gain what it was they set out to do in
act one.

Even though Jim Carey’s character doesn’t consciously
recognize it – we see or at least sense he is changing as a result of the
experience he’s going through. He is on a journey to recognize the truth of who
he really loves and needs in his life and what his lies have been doing to
them. He eventually comes to fully understanding he’s become as a result of his
habitual lying and selfishness of spirit and owns up to it.

So in Liar Liar it is a need in the character, to stop
lying, that is required to be discovered by that character to deliver a happy story
resolution – and we see it being learnt by the character even before he
realizes it’s the missing element to solving his problems – “And the truth will
set you free!” he cries to win his unwinnable case.

These attempts can fail or deliver small wins. Sometimes the
character won’t see the results as win – because – as in Liar Liar – the
character is still clinging to the want – desperate to lie his way through life
and keep the world, through his lies, in his control and at arm’s length.

But through these attempts the character will change – and
soon, as more attempts, challenges, examples of what is needed are experienced
or chased by the character, they will come to know what they really need to do,
or to gain, or what is missing, that is stopping them being complete.

The journey of the character has made them understand how or
why they made, answered or gained from, or won a bigger prize and delivered
them an understanding of, their choice way back in act one.

They committed to a change for a reason – even if they
misunderstood their reason (Aiming for the superficial over the primary goal/need).
But now they’ve worked it out. Good for them! Just one problem – it’s too late.

When the character comes to discover it is too late – that they’ve
missed their opportunity to gain their higher primary goal/need, if plotted
well – because they’ve sacrificed that opportunity in the quest for their
superficial wants – then the emotional hangover kicks in. This self realization
or consequence of actions – throws the journey into a complete stop. It’s
called by many names – darkness of the soul, all is lost moment, death.

There are many different ways, within many different
stories, to arrive at this moment – and you can already feel this incredibly
simple structure straining to encompass even ‘most’ of the stories that it has
tracked well this far. As you move along the structural model things get more
complicated and there are more exceptions. This is because the story needs to
dictate the structural model, not the model the story.

(You will have noticed to the midpoint things were simple
and clear – then the explanations needed more variation –
forward/back/increase/decrease/accelerate/slow – and past the midpoint this
variation grows ever wider. And for me – the names given in the models try to
cover all these variables and that is why I believe they have become difficult
to grasp – by trying to label an event that actually gives the writer a great
deal of scope and room to make a wide variety of choices. And because the label
seems all encompassing – it is often misinterpreted by an inexperienced writer
as being an accurate, well defined, definite point – not a sign post that
defines only the spirit of the moment or the general intent.)

If this ‘all is lost’
moment comes about due to forces that are not the characters doing and he or
they have fought a valiant fight, but simply lost against overwhelming odds,
the story may dictate that there is not too much self flagellation – maybe a
philosophical air is more appropriate or an attempt to be positive in defeat
and a pledge to relocate and take those who managed to survive with them so
they can all start again. If the failure was all the character’s own doing –
then by all means, whip away.

Once again – every story is different and you should look to
its variables and use your best, informed judgment as the writer to give the
story what it needs. If you choose well the audience will be with you every
time.

There is a reflection
period after this realization of failure; a lull in action but not in
emotion. It’s where the character/s will reassess and allow, recognize or of at
least consider that the need not only exists, but it is their true goal and now
– out of reach.

This ‘reflection’ or
emotional low point can be placed just after the need is irredeemable or
seemingly lost forever.

So the moment the character or circumstances have moved past
a point where the need is attainable, that’s where this emotional still point
exists. And there can be more than one – there may be a series of smaller
moments spread out – your story will dictate.

In pretty woman Vivian leaves a diamond necklace behind and
leaves the hotel suite because she knows she needs to be loved, not rented or
bought. She gives up on both her want and need by leaving. Those jewels
represent everything she wanted for the first half of the film. Now they’re
sacrificed – not for a chance at gaining true love – but genuinely sacrificed.
The character walks away with nothing and expecting never to get anything by
walking away.

Sticking with Julia, but now in Nottinghill – it is the
moment she returns back to the bookshop and says – “I’m just a girl, asking a
boy….” And Hugh says no – he really can’t be part of her circus of a life. Julia
is crushed. Love is dead. The darkness of the soul moment begins. For her, a
hollow press conference. For him, a wake style post mortem with his friends.

This lull after that
‘false end’ is the moment, the decision, the motivation or a well seeded and
logical plot device is found to trigger a turning point that sets up and
creates the possibility for the resolution and the move to leave act two and
begin act three.

You may need a character reflection point straight after
your midpoint. Imagine an explosion of emotional and physical energy – which
your midpoint often is. Directly after this powerhouse moment – like any moment
after great energy is expelled – characters may need to separate and calm down.
To go over and consider what has just happened.

It is up to you what they reflect on. It is often the moment
they first contemplate they’ve been after the wrong thing. They may begin to
suspect, uncover or realise their primary need because of the midpoint. All of
these things may need some calm retrospective space, time or discussion with
trusted mentors/friends.

Then the character/s can test their theory and attempt to
gain their need in the series of escalating attempts that mirror act one’s
attempts to gain their superficial want. But by now they are after their
primary need. (Again remembering want and
need refer to broader concepts than
an individual’s wants and needs – they may be far grander than personal wants
and needs – to change an unjust society or save the world from catastrophe.)

You may have both the reflection moment after the midpoint
and the all is lost moment that moves
us towards whatever trigger the resolution, or whatever it is that ALLOWS the
resolution to occur – the fulfilling of the need.
You may decide your story doesn’t need both the reflection moment and the all is lost moment. Maybe it needs as
series of smaller reflection moments after each attempt/trial towards the primary goal/need.

This reflection moment, or moments of the character/s and
the final all is lost/defeat/death of
hope moment can be skewed and placed at slightly different moments along
the second half of the second act AS THE STORY DICTATES. Again, your judgment
as a writer will decide and on that judgment you will be judged.

Once you have moved your characters through the journey of
the second half of the second act and have them contemplating failure/accepting
failure, then the final secure anchor of the three act structure occurs.

THE KEY TO RESOLUTION.

Your story has a reason for us to believe the characters can
reverse the failure and find a resolution to their various dilemmas – if this
is not the case, it’s a poorly thought out and planned story. (This story
selection along with a great deal of ‘forward planning’ towards success, is
what I will be covering in future posts)

In the sixth sense Dr Malcolm Crowe is dead. It’s so well
plotted that we as an audience, on this reveal, can suddenly fit this riddle to
everything we’ve seen and like Crowe we are the last to know. But now we and he
do know – his path to resolution, to what he has to do to take care of those he
loves and move on becomes clear, natural and easy.

The best screenplays play to their resolution from page one
and if you ever needed a good reason to learn how to set up and plan your story
from the blank page, before you write, then this is it.

The key to resolution moment,
if well structured, should flows naturally and feel organic. A poorly planned
story structure will rely to some degree on what is known as Duex Ex Machina – from
the Greek meaning – ‘God made it happen’.

Duex Ex Machina is a device of some kind that magically
turns up, out of the blue to offer a road to the resolution. It can be plot or
character based and it reveals itself as illogical, forced, unmotivated or
unseeded in what’s gone before.

I see this most in procedural TV dramas where the criminal
confesses the vital piece of information or confesses at the last minute. Every
week in every episode it seems to happen and it makes a mockery of the millions
in jail screaming still that they are innocent.

If your story is well told the answer as to why the
character/s get a second chance at what they truly need to achieve/win/gain/complete,
will flow, almost without thought. It will be logical, seem-less and no will
ask questions about how or why it happened.

In the next few blogs I will detail many issues along the path
of taking an idea from blank page to completed screenplay. This is where I will
detail the process of selecting a story, understanding its structure and doing
the work on the treatment before you begin in order to deliver an emotionally
satisfying, well told story that flows towards a satisfactory resolution in act
three.

Surprisingly to many, most of the work, certainly all the
hard and frustrating work, occurs before you ever begin to write. Writing is,
as it should be, the fun part – the joy!

As for the remaining structure – the resolution in
structural model terms – it better be unique and original or at least a new
slant on an old tale, otherwise it’s a generic re-hash of something that’s gone
before. And as a unique and original story it will have its own resolution.

The best advice – tell your resolution well.

The second act on the basics of the structural model began
to creak with multiple choices for reflections points and the moment of
defeat/all is lost moment. To try and find a form that fits every stories
resolution is next to impossible.

The best advice any predetermined model can give is to do
justice to the story you’re telling. Leave us totally satisfied that everything
has been covered and wanting more at the same time: more of the characters,
more of their situation, more of their story. Listen to your story and tell it well.
Then any audience will be disappointed to leave it, even once they’ve been
satisfied that all the elements within the story have been answered or ended.

And if you can’t do your stories justice yet, don’t be
impatient. Study the case studies, the extensive analysis of the many
successful stories that have gone before. The great teachers and their teaching
of structure have guided every good story teller I’ve ever met. It certainly is
what I learnt and am still studying and learning from.

After a while, when you’re really understanding the theory
and you no longer need to stop to think where you are on the model or what was
said about how to set up a character or a coming turning point – when you no
longer need to think about those things and yet, you still instinctively follow
them – that’s when you’ll start making great and original decisions. And that’s
when your work will become undeniable.

That’s my basic look at the three act structure – and while
it seems I’ve come up short with very loose guidance towards the back end,
especially past resolution and to the final fade out, my genuine belief is: act
three, and a meaningful and satisfying resolution, comes out of each individual
story.

Understand what you need to look at during story selection,
your setup and the planning and detailing of your treatment and you should
never have to stop and doubt your resolution – because you would never have started
writing without knowing what it is and knowing how it works. That doesn’t mean
it may not change or be improved, but at worst the original planned resolution
will hold up and deliver a satisfying end to your story.

Remember: I am not advocating against detailed and complex
models and analysis of a script. We the writers rely on ‘they’ the
analysts/script editors to break down our structure when we write a script into
a corner or when we get too close and lose objectivity.

We rely on it to improve a script and take it to that next
level.

From their detailed analysis we can make our choices to
solve the problems they have identified, they may even give structural choices
we could take to solve those problems. And as we get better as writers and understanding
structure fluently we may even be able to wear a script editor’s hat ourselves
and break down our own structure objectively and analyze exactly the structure
of our story to find its problems or do it for others.

But we should never have to follow decisions that an analyst
makes about how to progress OUR
story UNLESS – YOU, the writer, can
feel the analyst and their structural breakdown has sought out and found the
same story you’re trying to tell – often described as being on the same page.

It’s not the job of an analyst, a reviewer, a reader or a
development executive to dictate from a pre-formed detailed structural formula,
what should be changed in your story or where the story should go or how it
should be told.

They can tell you it doesn’t work or offer advice on how to
make YOUR story work – not theirs.

The trouble of course is that a writer without form, looking
for their first break, has no power. It’s impossible to resist changes being
forced on your story from a ‘zero power’ position – especially when the person
pushing those changes has the carrot of a possible green light to production.

My advice: Suck
it up and get produced. Cross your fingers the result isn’t bastardized to a
point it ruins your reputation. (Who knows, it may go the other way – you may
be in the hands of a development genius who makes you look brilliant.) Your
first career objective as a writer is get some credits – then you can pick your
battles – your first opportunity to get a credit isn’t the time to dig in your
heels and make a stand.

But do be wary of any analyst who tells you where your story
should go, especially if they seem to miss what you are aiming at in your story
or if they haven’t spoken to you at length about your story and what it is you
are trying to do with it. The danger is their suggestions will be their story
based on your parameters.

Equally, be wary about trying to fit your story perfectly to
a preformed, detailed structural model. This method will deliver you a sound
script – but it is likely to be one everyone has seen before.

About Me

Scott Norton Taylor - I worked for Fremantlemedia for many years running Neighbours and Home and Away script Departments, I set up drama shows in Indonesia, Poland and Russia and am now working on projects in Australia.